Girl Reporter

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Megadethra laughed up at her, as if they were flirting again. “I don’t have the answers you want, Tina. I don’t know where the Machines came from. I use the scraps left behind by their mysterious architects, just like you humans. If you’re sensible, you won’t poke too hard at that particular mystery. I don’t think anyone will enjoy what happens when the makers of the Machines find out how their gifts have been used.”

  My mother stared at her, implacable, every inch the professional interviewer. “How does it feel to be defeated by yet another Solar, in your own territory, your majesty?”

  Megadethra wiped a streak of blood off her own lip. “It feels very familiar, Tina Valentina. It feels like coming home.”

  Megadethra agreed to send us home by wormhole. This was, frankly, the least she could do. To Liam’s distress, both Solars negotiated to give up Audrey and Rosalind, on the grounds that the ships were from Megadethra’s dimension in the first place, and travel between here and there wasn’t something that any of us wanted to encourage.

  Joey stood next to me as we waited for the wormhole to open. I had the overwhelming urge to hold her hand. Honestly the only thing that held me back was that Clancy and The Dark were doing exactly that, two feet away from us.

  There would be no canoodling in the back room of a retro dimension ship if we were taking the fast way home, but I planned to book some serious private time with Joey in our near future.

  “You know,” my mother said wistfully. “I’ve spent my entire adult life trying not to date superheroes. Maybe I should just give in to the inevitable.”

  Nearby, Surf cleared his throat and offered his most charming smile. “Hey, there. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  “Stop that, you are half her age,” I said sternly.

  Joey nudged me. “But he’s not an extra-dimensional space tyrant.”

  This was true. “I’m going to have to think about this one.”

  My mother gave me an arch look. “You do that, darling. Let me know what you decide.” She then leaned in, and wrote her phone number on Surf’s arm.

  “You know what I like about older women?” he smirked at her. “They always have a pen.”

  With charm like that, it was amazing he didn’t already have a girlfriend.

  It took four seconds to step through the wormhole to Darling Harbour, where we found a massive reception awaiting us. Turned out, those of us who travelled in Audrey had been missing three months, and those who arrived in Rosalind had been missing for about five weeks. Australia’s police, army, special forces and the secret superhero government task force specialising in international supervillain crime syndicates were all highly alarmed about the recent absence of superheroes. When the wormhole’s approach was detected, they all rolled out to greet us in the expectation that this was it, the big invasion.

  I counted four tanks, and more machine guns than I thought this country owned.

  “Hold!” yelled a general. “It’s the good guys!”

  “Hear that?” said Surf, grinning all over his face. “We’re the good guys.”

  “Like you need more positive reinforcement,” Astra sighed at him.

  We were all exhausted. But apparently, we were good guys. It came as a relief to me, too.

  Clancy and The Dark were no longer holding hands. I felt a pang of sadness for them. A very short girl in a Catsuit II hoodie (yes I said girl, she was maybe twelve?) lunged forward to stick an iPad in my face.

  “Friday Valentina, this is Hildy Hayes for Teen Hero Online, can you comment on what universe-threatening menace drew this entire group offworld, and has it been defeated?”

  I blinked at her.

  She pressed on, every bit the hardened journalist. “Friday, answer the question! Is it true that Original Solar battled New Solar to get his powers back?”

  “I believe I can answer that,” said a deep voice. Clancy Bunning leaned over my shoulder.

  Hildy let out a tiny squeak as she realised who he was.

  “I’m well and truly retired from the hero business, and proud to have such a strong Legacy taking my name,” said Clancy. “Solar is the hero that Australia needs—and she has a great team at her back. We couldn’t be in better hands.” He smiled, a press conference smile.

  Hildy wasn’t going to leave it there. “Is it true that this unofficial group outing was to celebrate your secret wedding with TV legend Tina Valentina?”

  “Hey!” I protested. “Leave the man alone. I think if someone secretly married my mother, I’d know about it.”

  The iPad swung back to me. “So where did you all disappear to?” asked the pre-teen menace.

  I hesitated.

  There were clearly a whole bunch of reporters and photographers trying to get past the police tape and military, but this one kid had managed to get through. I admired her for that.

  But I didn’t owe her my story.

  “It was a diplomatic mission,” I said. “To confirm that Megadethra has retired from the supervillain game once and for all.”

  “That’s right,” said Clancy, barely missing a beat. “It took longer than expected to pin down the specifics of the agreement, but I think Australia deserves to feel safe in the knowledge that Megadethra guarantees never to invade this dimension again.”

  “We mostly talked about gardening,” I said. “When we weren’t organizing piles of paperwork. There was a lot of paperwork.” I tried to look earnest and boring.

  “The Palace Zone’s anti-gravity gardens are especially lovely at this time of year,” said Clancy.

  We both smiled at her with all our teeth.

  We had to cross a press gauntlet to get to the vehicles that the government had waiting to whisk us away from the public eye. Hildy kept pace with the rest of them, all doing their best to prise a story out of our ragtag group. We stuck to our impromptu cover story, providing them the dullest possible soundbites, indispersed with space garden factoids. The reporters were especially annoyed that none of us would confirm whether or not Astra had died during the adventure.

  “I’m going to find out the real story, you know,” Hildy muttered at me, as her parting shot.

  “Good luck with that kiddo,” I told her, and I almost meant it. “Hey, hang on.” I handed her a business card. For once I’d actually managed to carry a few in my phone case, instead of leaving them neatly stacked at home. The card had my personal email address on it, and all my social media handles. “Hit me up sometime and we can talk about career stuff.”

  Hildy looked suspicious. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  Lift as you climb. That was another of my mother’s gems of wisdom about our line of work. Make allies of the women in your field. You never know when you’ll need back up.

  “I’ll have a bunch more questions for you next time,” warned Hildy.

  “I can’t wait!”

  After the official debrief and the anti-space-radiation protocols, it was a relief to get home. Mum invited Griff over but he looked from her to me and promised to come by in a day or two, once he’d got Liam sorted.

  “Coward,” I called after him, and he didn’t deny it.

  It was true that Mum and I had a lot to talk about—feelings, tensions, recent revelations about sexual identities, but for the first few hours we mostly ate our weight in Nutella sandwiches, and gossiped about the superhero secrets she had been hiding all these years. She was glad to finally be able to discuss them with me.

  “It’s the best story,” I lamented. “Like, the most epic superhero story of all time. It hits every button. My channel would kill to know that Solar and The Dark, the two longest-serving old school Australian superheroes, have been involved in an epic interracial queer love story spanning decades.”

  “It will be told someday,” Mum assured me.

  “You really think so?
Because history is super great at covering this kind of shit up.”

  “Give them a break. They haven’t had a minute’s peace, not really, and their relationship only got more challenging when Clancy was retired, with The Dark still in service. I think someday they’ll want their story told.”

  “It won’t be us that tells it,” I sulked.

  “Probably not.”

  “How is that not driving you up the wall right now?”

  “Who says it isn’t? Believe me, Friday, I want to crack this story like an egg white omelette. Part of me wants you to crack it too. The proud mother part. Not the ruthless journalist part. The ruthless journalist part is cackling MINE ALL MINE. But if you’re going to stick with this business without losing your soul, you have to accept that the stories aren’t ours. Especially the stories about epic interracial queer love. Hashtag Own Voices, and all that.”

  I almost choked on my sandwich. “OMG promise me you’ll say ‘hashtag’ out loud next time Griff’s in the room, I think you might make him turn purple.”

  She grinned at me, proud of herself.

  “Also, I hate to break it to you Mum, but we’ve both got the queer representation part down.”

  “Still white. Wealthy. Privileged…”

  Not going to argue with that.

  “So, okay,” I said after a moment of mourning for the story I could never tell; the secrets I could never broadcast. Yep. Sad. Move on. “This question is long overdue, and you are absolutely not obliged to answer me, but can you tell me about my father? Not that it matters. Unless he’s someone famous. I do need to know if he’s famous.” A thought occurred to me. “It’s not Guy Pearce, is it? Blink twice if it’s Guy Pearce.”

  “Oh darling,” Mum sighed. “It’s such a boring answer. He was one of three different guys at three different parties in one very irresponsible week. That’s literally it. That’s my big secret. I was so resentful that the world had created this myth of me as part of an epic love story, when an even more amazing love story was happening right under their noses. The dating pool doesn’t exactly throw many exciting long-term prospects your way when the whole world thinks you’re covertly dating a superhero. I felt sorry for myself for a while there, and went through what can only be described as a slutty phase.”

  “Sex positive feminism, Mum,” I chided her. “We don’t say slutty as a pejorative. Don’t you read Teen Vogue?”

  She shrugged. “Only their Twitter feed.”

  “You’re missing out. The good stuff’s in the articles.” I looked down at the plate, and nudged the last sandwich in her direction. “I don’t actually need a Dad. Though kudos for providing a big brother who is way too invested in my love life. We hit the jackpot there.”

  A look of intrigue crossed Mum’s face. “Speaking of which.”

  I winced. “Please don’t.”

  “I have to ask.”

  “No, you don’t!”

  She leaned in, smirking at me. “Are you like, totally dating Solar?”

  Reader, I divorced my mother.

  #notreally

  #butwouldyoublameme

  All The Best Superheroes Brood on Rooftops

  SO THAT’S IT. THE STORY I can never tell. If you’re reading this now, well. I guess the secrets aren’t secret any more. Maybe you even learned those secrets from me, if I was the one picked to release the story. Who can say?

  Here’s another story I can’t tell anyone about yet.

  Two weeks after we returned from our adventure, I got a text from Griff to meet me on the roof. Our roof. Of my house.

  “We couldn’t meet in the living room like a normal person?” I grumbled. He had left out a ladder for me, so I didn’t die. He probably hadn’t used it—he would have just parkoured up there with one foot on a window ledge, like a goddamned superhero.

  Griff was wearing a long black coat over his Kid Dark gear—gymnastic friendly spandex. No mask. His hair still dyed brown, because that’s who he is now. Redhead Jay Jupiter is never coming back.

  “It’s thematically significant,” he told me, with his best brooding face on. “I always used to hang out up here, when the whole living in a mansion thing messed with my head. It’s peaceful.”

  I had to admit, this was a pretty good stretch of roof. Surprisingly flat. We could maybe put a garden in up here. Or solar panels. Ha, would that count as a flirtatious invitation to my new girlfriend?

  “Besides,” Griff added. “I’m going to have to get used to it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He took a deep breath, looking out at the fading sun. It was getting on for evening. “The Dark is going to retire. He and Solar… Clancy are going to disappear together. Finally get a chance at the quiet life, you know?”

  “That’s—” outrageously and unexpectedly romantic, “—awesome. But it’s a couple of months until the next #SuperheroSpill, and how can he be sure he’ll get picked to step down…”

  Griff turned and looked at me, his face heavy with resignation.

  Oh. He wouldn’t.

  Original Solar was a crowd favourite for decades, but it was The Dark’s merch sales that kept the Sky Tower running. The comics, the movie rights, the party plates, the Lego. If the Machine had any higher intelligence in its programming, if there was any chance at all that it worked on an algorithm that wasn’t entirely random… The Dark was never going to be released from his full time night job.

  If there were humans involved in the choice at all—and like many a superhero conspiracy theorist, I figured there had to be—they probably assumed he’d prefer eternal vigilance and heroic stature to quietly getting to live out his retirement in a wheelchair. And I bet no one had asked him which option he would choose.

  “He’s not going to wait,” said Griff steadily. “He’s going to go next week. Before the Lottery, before everything.”

  “He won’t get away with it,” I said, startled.

  “Really? How many officials do you think know what he even looks like? It’s been nearly thirty years. Besides, he won’t be missing. They won’t know to look for him at first.”

  “But how—” I saw the stubborn set of Griff’s chin, and stopped. “You’re going to take his place?”

  “I owe him so much, Fry. Why shouldn’t he get some fucking peace and quiet? Why shouldn’t he leave on his terms? Twenty eight years, he served this country.” He looked miserable. “Besides, I have these powers. The ones I should have given back when I was a kid. If the Machine recognises me for a fraud and spits ‘The Dark’ out next Hero Day, I’ll be fine. I’ll be done.”

  “And what if it hangs on to you for twenty years or more? Griff, you just got your degree. You have work you want to do.”

  “I can help people as The Dark.”

  “You shouldn’t give up your dream, so—”

  “So someone else can get theirs? Why not, Friday? Why shouldn’t I do this?”

  I was so angry I wanted to throw things off the roof.

  But I got it. I got why he wanted to give The Dark—to give Aaron and Clancy this gift. “You know,” I said sullenly. “For a few minutes there, we had a superhero team entirely made up of women and people of colour, that’s never happened before.” A more horrible thought occurred to me. “The Dark will retire as a white guy. That can’t happen.”

  “It has to happen,” Griff said firmly. “Look, it will all come out when the Machine retires me. I’m famous, thanks to your Mum. People will know I’m Jay Jupiter. It’ll be pretty obvious that I swapped places with the real The Dark at some point.”

  “But history won’t know who he was,” I complained. “They won’t know that the greatest all-time Australian superhero was an Aboriginal man. Griff, that’s awful. We can’t let everything he’s achieved be erased.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Greatest al
l-time, huh?’

  “Don’t tell him I said that. Shut up. Astra’s the greatest. The Dark is barely even the greatest male superhero who wears a stupid cape.”

  “Shall I tell him you said that?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Griff reached out and hugged me with one arm. “He gets it, about the history thing. He’s not ready for the world to know. He needs a bloody holiday. I don’t think he’s even had a weekend off since the 80’s. But in the future… I think he’ll be ready to tell his story. And I’m pretty sure he wants you and Tina to be the ones who help him tell it.”

  I sighed, leaning my face against the curve of Griff’s neck. He gave good hugs. “By the time he’s ready, it won’t be either of us. There will be some brand new generation of five-year-olds telling stories via text implant, or holographic crystal.”

  “Sure,” Griff said easily. “That’s entirely possible.”

  “Maybe the next batch of reporters will all be hipster babies who resurrect vintage media formats like vinyl and newspapers and podcasts.”

  “Sounds good,” said Griff, relaxed against me. It was probably the last day off he was going to have for a while. He had to get measured for a cape and cowl. Practice his gravelly voice. Have his sense of humour surgically removed. It was a long To Do List.

  “Hey!” my mother called up from the lawn below. “What are you kids doing up there? I ordered Thai. Come and help me eat it.”

  “We’re practicing our superhero brooding!” I yelled back.

  “It’s not even dark yet,” Tina Valentina laughed at us. “Food’s getting cold.”

  I caught Griff’s sleeve as we headed for the ladder. “Does she know? Are you going to tell her?”

  “Not yet,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I’m only telling you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Is that because you trust her to keep her mouth shut if she figures it out on her own, but if you piss me off I might run an exposé on my vlog?”

  “I’m really not sure how to answer that question,” he said, and then didn’t.

  “She’s gonna figure it out,” I sing-songed at him in my most bratty little sister voice. “The second you put on that cowl…”